CHAPTER2
973 Words
The bedroom of the penthouse suite shimmered with the reflections of city lights, faint shadows flickering against the walls. Donald took a step closer, his gaze fixed on Grace as if daring her to break the tension between them.
"Last chance to walk away," his voice was low, a challenge wrapped in silk. His fingers brushed her forearm lightly, as if testing her resolve.
Grace clenched her jaw, her heartbeat drumming in her ears. "I don’t walk away from deals," she said, her voice steady but laced with a tension she couldn’t fully mask.
His lips curved, not quite a smile, but enough to unsettle her. "You keep calling it a deal," he murmured. "Trying to convince me or yourself?"
Her breath hitched as he closed the space between them, his hand finding her waist. Grace’s instinct was to step back, but her feet remained rooted. Her body betrayed her, leaning slightly forward, drawn in despite herself.
"Your pulse says otherwise," he said softly, his mouth now dangerously close to her ear. "You think I can’t feel it?"
"You think you know me?" she countered, tilting her chin defiantly even as her voice faltered.
"I think I’m starting to," he replied, his fingers sliding along the curve of her waist. "Your head’s fighting, but your body..."
"This isn’t personal," she cut him off, her tone sharper now, though the tremble in her hands betrayed her.
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. "No? Then why haven’t you stopped me?"
Grace opened her mouth to respond, but the words failed her. His gaze held hers, dark and probing, and for a moment, she felt utterly exposed. It infuriated her, yet she couldn’t look away.
"You hate this," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "Hate me. And yet..." He reached up, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Here you are."
She swallowed hard, her hands twitching at her sides before curling into fists. "You’re mistaking hesitation for interest."
"Am I?" he asked, his lips so close now that every word brushed against her skin. "Prove me wrong. Say the word, Grace, and I’ll stop."
Her silence was deafening. His hand moved to her lower back, pulling her against him. The contact sent a jolt through her, and she exhaled sharply, her hands instinctively gripping his shoulders.
"You’re trembling," he noted, his voice softer now, almost tender. "Tell me it’s just nerves."
She pressed her palms against his chest as if to push him away, but instead, her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. "Stop talking," she muttered, her voice cracking.
His lips twitched, and for a brief second, she thought he’d laugh. But instead, he leaned in, brushing his mouth against hers. The kiss wasn’t sudden or demanding; it was deliberate, testing, as though he was waiting for her to push him away.
She didn’t.
Her fingers slid up to his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, the tension between them unraveling into something raw and electric. His hands roamed her back, his touch firm yet careful, as though he was afraid she’d break.
"Grace," he murmured against her lips, his voice laced with something she couldn’t quite name. "You drive me insane."
She pulled back slightly, her breath shallow. "This doesn’t mean anything," she said, though the words rang hollow even to her own ears.
"Doesn’t it?" he asked, his forehead resting against hers. "Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel that way to me."
Her chest tightened at the vulnerability in his tone, but she forced herself to look away. "One night," she whispered. "That’s all this is."
Donald’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. "One night," he echoed, though the way he kissed her again felt more like a promise than an agreement.
The kiss turned fervent, their breaths mingling as the walls between them crumbled. Donald’s hands slid beneath her blouse, his touch searing against her skin. Grace arched into him, her fingers fumbling to undo the buttons of his shirt. The sound of fabric hitting the floor barely registered as they moved in unison, each touch igniting a fire neither could extinguish.
Grace’s back met the cool sheets of the bed, but the chill was forgotten under the heat of Donald’s body pressing against hers. His lips trailed along her collarbone, his breath hot and uneven. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as he moved lower, his hands exploring every inch of her.
"Look at me," he murmured, his voice rough and raw. Grace’s eyes fluttered open, meeting his intense gaze. The vulnerability there startled her, making her heart twist painfully in her chest.
"Donald..." she whispered, but the words that followed were lost as he captured her mouth again. The rhythm of their bodies became frantic, desperate, each movement speaking the emotions they couldn’t voice. The room filled with the sounds of ragged breaths and whispered names, the outside world fading into oblivion.
As the crescendo of their passion finally ebbed, Donald collapsed beside her, his chest heaving. Grace stared at the ceiling, her mind a whirlwind of emotions she didn’t dare untangle. He reached for her, his fingers lacing with hers as silence enveloped them.
"This changes nothing," she said quietly, though her voice lacked conviction.
Donald turned his head, his expression unreadable. "Doesn’t it?" he asked softly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.
Neither of them noticed the faint glow of her phone lighting up on the floor, Bryan’s message flashing one last time: "Donald Klin wants you for himself."
Every touch, every kiss felt like fire. Grace lost herself in Donald's embrace, forgetting for precious moments why she was really there. His lips traced patterns down her throat as she gasped his name.
"Tell me what you want," he demanded, his voice rough with desire.
- Writer
